


The Best Of Times, The Worst Of Times

by Beckymonster



Category: La Cage aux Folles - Herman/Fierstein
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckymonster/pseuds/Beckymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Georges' little 'mistake' brought him a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Of Times, The Worst Of Times

Georges lifted Jean-Michel into his arms, cradling the baby with a gentleness that surprised him with the ease it came to him.

“Today is a very special day, mon coeur,” Georges crooned as he settled his son onto his shoulder. “Today you will meet your…” he paused, trying to figure out something that had been, ashamedly the last thing on his mind, “your Uncle Albin for the first time!”

Georges shook his head as he began to pace his tiny dressing room. Talking about one love of his life like that to the other was just… inconceivable.

Then again, a couple of months ago, the very idea of him being a father was just as inconceivable to Georges. That was until Sybil sashayed back into his life.

He had been... pleased when she had called him up, all breathy Welsh vowels and honeyed words. That was until he heard what she had to say.

The nuns at the orphanage had made sure that despite his other 'perceived' flaws (loving men being one of them) that he was a gentleman. And a gentleman did not leave a lady in distress when he could do something about it.

The demand for a blood test hit him like a very large, very twinkly piano being dropped from a great height. Georges could have sworn that his voice went up at least as high as a castrati's when he asked why. Sybil had shrugged her elegantly clad shoulders (Georges thought about asking who her dressmaker was, Albin would want their number) and said that she had just had a child and she wanted to know who the father was.

When Georges finally got his voice back to its usual baritone, he congratulated her, (her eyes sparked with anger at his words) and agreed to the test. After all, while it would be wonderful *if* he was a father; there was no chance that the baby was his. He could get on with his life and build a future with Albin.   
Albin... Georges hadn’t given his lover a thought when Sybil was explaining away her reason for asking to meet him again after nearly two years since that crazy night when he indulged his... ‘curiosity’.

There would be tears and tantrums, Georges knew his love too well, but Albin loved him; would want him to know if there was a chance that he was a father. He would forgive him... eventually.

Or so Georges thought.

He broke the news to Albin after a late supper that evening. Just the two of them in the cafe, not that it mattered as Albin sat as pale and as still as a statue while Georges told him about Sybil and her little ‘errand’.    
At the time, Georges thought that Albin took the news very well. That was until Albin mentioned in passing, a few days after Georges’ blood test, that he had been offered a slot in a forthcoming London show and he was going to take it. The entire arrondissement heard *that* particular row.

It took Georges nearly a week to speak to Albin with anything approaching civility. Yes, with hindsight, he knew that Albin was giving him space to deal with the whole Sybil issue. Unfortunately, all he saw was that his lover was running out on him when he needed him the most.    
The day that Albin left for London was the day that Sybil turned up at the stage door with a bassinet occupied by a crying baby.

"It's yours," she said, as she placed the cradle at his feet. "Here is his paperwork and I will be in touch." she added, turning to leave. Georges was far too shocked to even protest. Could only just stand there staring down at the tiny, red, screaming thing lying by his feet.

Lou Lou saved both his and Jean-Michel's lives by coming to see what all the commotion was about. She had worked at the theatre for years as a dresser and seamstress and always had a polite word and a quick needle for anyone and everyone who needed it. What she gave Georges right then was a clip around the ear that broke him out of his catatonic state.

"The baby is mine," he said in a dull whisper. Lou Lou just stared over the glasses perched on her nose at him.

"I don't care whose it is, the little mite needs something to eat!" she barked, pushing him to pick up the bassinet and follow her to the seamstresses room. Georges followed like an automaton, carrying here and placing there. Sitting where he was told while Lou Lou dealt with the situation. Yelling at the gawkers to go away and asking the porter to run to the nearest marché for a litre of milk for the baby.    
Once everyone had drunk their fill (tea for Lou Lou, some warm milk for the baby and for Georges, a large medicinal brandy) Lou Lou had held the sleeping baby while Georges had read through the paperwork. Blood tests, paternity tests, birth certificate - they were all there. The baby, a little boy, was his. Georges had a son... and a huge problem.

"What will you do?" Lou Lou asked sensibly once she had passed the child into Georges' ecstatic arms. "This theatre is no place to bring up a child." she said. "Does he even have a name? Has he been christened?"

"He will not be left on the church doorstep!" Georges stated firmly. That had been his fate and while the nuns had been firm but fair, he would not do that to his son. "I will bring him as my own." he swore, cradling the child against him. "As for a name, I've always liked 'Jean-Michel'."

Lou Lou smiled as she stepped forward to kiss Jean-Michel on the forehead. "I promise to teach Georges to look after you, Jean-Michel!"   Georges carefully leant forward and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you," he murmured.  

“What will you tell Albin?” she asked, a wry expression on her face. Georges remembered that she always had a soft spot for him.   Georges looked down at Jean-Michel, sleeping in his arms.  
   
“One disaster at a time.”

Georges sent a letter to Albin, telling him about Jean-Michel after the christening. The priest didn't ask and Georges didn't tell. After all, what could he really say.

He had spent hours, writing and re-writing the letter. Trying to find the exact words to explain about Jean-Michel; all the while stressing that he loved Albin with all his heart.  
Georges even included a photo of Jean-Michel, ruthlessly playing on the fact that Albin adored children, having come from a very large family himself.

Lou Lou had taken it, having borrowed a camera from the stage manager. Georges kept one copy on his dressing table, next to a photo of Albin and a smaller copy in his wallet. Everyone at the theatre had rallied around Georges and Jean-Michel. There was always someone who was willing to mind him when Georges was on stage; various necessary items would appear in Georges’ dressing room - a cot, a high chair, blankets and clothes... all passed along from his friends who wished them both well.    
Learning to be a parent had been a hell of a learning curve, but for Jean-Michel's sake, Georges was doing his best to be the best father he could be.

Georges only hoped that Albin would choose to be part of their lives. He had sent the letter off three weeks ago to Albin's digs in Soho and despite how terrible the English postal system was, he hadn't heard anything either way.

Part of him wanted to see this as being something positive. No news being good news and all that. Another part, the one that knew his lover far too well, knew that it was only delaying the inevitable.  
 Albin was returning to Paris that day. Georges hoped that he would visit the theatre and at least give him an answer.

"Oh mon coeur," Georges murmured, kissing his son on his forehead. "Can I be fortunate enough to have both of you in my life?"   Jean-Michel didn't reply. He blew milk bubbles at his father who laughed and held him until Luc, the stage manager knocked on his door.

"I will keep an eye on the little scamp!" he said, taking the child out of Georges' arms.  Georges smiled to himself, knowing that the real reason why Luc was happy to look after Jean-Michel had more to do with the dancers cooing over his charge than anything else.

Lou Lou told Georges that he had a visitor as he bounded off stage after his set that evening.   "Is it?" he asked, not wanting to tempt fate by actually saying either of his lover's names.   She smiled at him as she helped him slip out of his jacket.

"Why don't you go see for yourself," she suggested. "And give Jean-Michel a kiss from me," He kissed her on the cheek.

"A very good idea," he replied before he walked through the maze of corridors to his dressing room.

The door was closed but as he put his hand to the door, Georges thought he could hear a clear baritone voice singing. Something from Cole Porter if he wasn't mistaken. His heart grew in his chest at the sound; it was his beloved Albin singing, something that always made his heart lighter just for the hearing of it.

Georges slowly opened the door to reveal Albin pacing slowly the length of the tiny room; dressed in a chic sapphire blue gown that did wonderful things to the colour of his eyes and a blonde bobbed wig.  Cradled tenderly in his arms was Jean-Michel, who was staring up at Albin with that beautiful look of wonder that Georges lived to see every day. It would seem that Albin was quickly falling under the baby's spell too as he couldn't keep his eyes off him.

As Georges crossed the threshold, Albin looked up from Jean-Michel, greeting him with a beautiful wide grin. He smiled back as he crossed over to the two of them, wrapping his arms around both of them.

"I love you," he murmured into Albin's ear.

"Jean-Michel or I?" was the blunt query.

"Both of you," he replied, meaning it.  

“I... took up the role in London because I did not want to face up the possibility of you leaving me for Her.” Albin murmured, voice honestly shaking with emotion, touching his forehead to Georges’. “When you said in your letter that she’d literally left you holding the baby and that you loved me...”  Georges tightened his embrace around Albin.

“Oh Albin,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his lover’s cheek. “It’s true that I love a dark haired, blue eyed beauty, but they hail not from Abergavenny but from Aurora, Illinos.”

Albin lifted his head, fixing Georges with a tart look. “If I find any beautiful creatures fitting that description, I’ll point them in your direction!” was the teasing reply.  Georges laughed and held his little family close.    
He didn't note the passage of time, wrapped up in the embrace of the two people who meant the most to him but still life went on past his doorway. Friends and well wishers poked their head in to say hello; before deciding that they would be intruding and would see them later.

It was through that open door that Georges heard one of the new dancers say that Jean-Michel really needed a mother as they bustled past towards the stage for their number. Another queried whether she was putting herself forward, while the others laughed shrilly.

As Georges leant down to kiss Albin on the lips, he knew that the role was already taken.


End file.
